


Baby, It's Cold Outside

by theonewhoneversleeps



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonewhoneversleeps/pseuds/theonewhoneversleeps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin can't stand the winter, and Arthur can't stand to see him cold. Oneshot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, It's Cold Outside

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my obligatory winter "Baby It's Cold Outside" fic. Just a bit of fluff with a pinch of smut mixed in.  
> Please review!

With a low groan, Merlin opened his eyes, knowing it was time to get up. Despite that knowledge, he snuggled a little deeper into his blankets, trying to preserve the warmth that he knew would disappear the moment he got out of bed. It was so nice here in his chamber, protected from the falling snow outside, and the freezing wind. He shivered simply thinking about it.

The fact was that Merlin hated winter in Camelot. In Ealdor he didn't have to get up every morning to make a fire for a prat, and in Ealdor he didn't have to hide his magic—his mother relied on him to keep the house warm, and he was glad to do so. That wasn't really an option in the castle though. At night he stayed warm enough; he could heat his bed, and stay toasty. During the day though, he was constantly freezing. It wasn't as if he could heat his clothing—they would start steaming if he got wet, and since it was constantly snowing and Arthur insisted that he run errands which led him outside, the sight of steam pouring off of him was a distinct possibility. Not to mention he thought people might start noticing that he was constantly giving off heat.

It was pitch black in his room, not a sliver of light entering though his window. With a lazy hand, Merlin lit the candle next to his bed—thankfully not catching the curtains on fire, like the last time—and swung his legs over to rise and shine, as they say.

With a hiss, he took his feet away from the freezing flagstones. There was almost no incentive for getting out of bed—well, maybe one.

With a sigh, Merlin thought of the fact that he might get to see Arthur dressing. In fact, it was most likely that he would. Arthur had training most mornings, even in the bitter cold, which meant that Merlin had the task of dragging his Prince out of bed, and getting him dressed.

Of course, he knew it was wrong to stare. Utterly, horribly wrong. Arthur wouldn't want him to be looking, that was certain, and for the most part Merlin managed to keep his eyes off. But sometimes there was no escaping it, and occasionally he would notice exactly how the muscles of Arthur's back bunched up as he raised his arms, everything flexing in a way that he simply couldn't ignore. Not to mention Arthur slept without a shirt on, even in the dead of winter, and Merlin couldn't say he minded. There wasn't any use in denying that the best part of his morning was getting that one glimpse of Arthur lying in bed, as peaceful as he could ever be. It almost pained Merlin most mornings to wake him. The fluttering of Arthur's eyelids as he woke was so beautiful, Merlin would feel, without fail, a tugging somewhere in his stomach, urging him to brush his fingertips across Arthur's cheek, but every day he resisted.

And then there were the days when Arthur came back from morning training, and that was even worse than seeing him sleep. Seeing him sleep was something innocent, more loving than anything else, and at least when he felt such a strong rush of love he could attribute it to the normal devotion he should feel for his future king. When Arthur came in from training, something much worse arose.

Sometimes literally.

Without fail, Arthur would open the door, and be totally, heart-stoppingly, terribly, gorgeous. His hair would be mussed, his skin flushed, and the most delicious sheen of sweat would be shining on his face. There was no way Merlin could be expected not to imagine Arthur exactly as he was—but on top of Merlin, naked and moaning for him, the way he did in his dreams. It didn't help that as soon as he got into his room with the door closed Arthur would start to shed clothing, and Merlin would be helplessly standing aside, waiting for Arthur to get in his bath so that he could get breakfast ready and pick out his clothes for the day.

Knowing that he might get to witness that beautiful spectacle today, despite the rather uncomfortable position it usually put him in, Merlin managed to get himself out of bed. Shivering from the rush of cold air, he got dressed, but dressing didn't really help much. He was almost as cold as before. It seemed like every day his trousers, or shirt, or pathetic excuse for a coat got another hole, and he felt like he was wearing more patches than original cloth. Frowning, he poked a finger through a new hole in his sleeve, but he knew there was nothing for it. He would simply have to endure the ceaseless chill.

Quietly, he went to Arthur's chambers, boots silent on the stones. He winced at that—cold was practically seeping through the worn leather. With practiced soundlessness he opened the door.

He lit the fire as he always did, with magic. Arthur was never wake when he arrived anyway, so there was no point in using mundane means to do it. As the flames began to crackle, he set out Arthur's clothes for training.

Just as usual, Arthur was lying spread-eagled, looking innocent and untroubled, and just as usual Merlin felt a pang of regret in having to wake him. "Arthur," he said cheerfully, "time to get up!"

"Noooo," came the reply from those perfect lips.

"Well, that's quite an improvement," Merlin said with gusto. "We've graduated to actual words when I wake you. It's really an unprecedented step up."

"Mph." Arthur had turned over, and buried his face in his pillow. Merlin tried to ignore the lovely swell of Arthur's bum, seemingly perfect. Really, it was just ridiculous. Why should anyone have a bum like that? It should be illegal. Merlin resisted the urge to slap it—in order to wake up the Prince, of course. Not for any other reason. None at all. It's not as if there would be any…ah…groping. Nope.

"Alright, Arthur," he said, trying to keep his voice from wavering, "get up. Training awaits!"

After some practiced wheedling and promises of a nice hot bath later, Merlin managed to get Arthur up and out of bed, fully clothed and ready for practice. Arthur was looking pink-cheeked and ready to face the day—Merlin was feeling the exact opposite. He was practically convulsing with shivers that had taken hold, and wouldn't let go, even now that the room was warm. His teeth were chattering, but he was trying to hide it.

"Ar-r-re you read-d-d-dy sire?" he asked.

Arthur gave him a perturbed look. "Merlin. What on earth is wrong with you?" he asked, sounding annoyed.

"Nothing," Merlin replied, managing to keep from chattering.

He could tell that Arthur didn't believe him. "Merlin, I don't want you in here if you're sick. It's not as if I want to be confined to my bed all winter. If you know you're sick, please stay out."

"I'm just feeling a little cold," Merlin admitted.

Arthur approached him, looking on appraisingly. Merlin began to feel self-conscious from the way Arthur's eyes were raking over his body. It made him feel naked—and not only in the sense that he could feel cold air seeping through his clothes. It was as if Arthur could see right through his clothing.

"Merlin," Arthur said slowly, "You do realize…that your clothes are little more than rags?"

"Erm." Merlin really didn't have anything to say to that. Of course he knew, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. He had worn the same clothes every day ever since he had arrived in Camelot from Ealdor, and they weren't even new then. It was hardly a wonder that they were falling apart by now, but he couldn't admit to Arthur that he couldn't afford anything new.

"Merlin, you're to go down to the royal tailors and give them this," Arthur said. Merlin had hardly noticed that he had been writing something quickly at his desk, and was now striding toward him, proffering a scroll. "By the end of the week you'll have three more sets of clothes to wear, exactly as the ones you have now—don't worry I won't make you give up those ridiculous neckerchiefs—though hopefully they'll be warmer."

"Thank you," Merlin said, really feeling grateful. To be honest, he thought that was one of the nicest things Arthur had ever done for him.

The rest of the morning, Merlin couldn't help but smile every time he remembered that he would be getting new clothes soon. It was silly that such a thing could make him so happy, but it did. And then there was also the fleeting thought that maybe Arthur cared about him more than he had thought—that was certainly more than enough to induce happiness.

Despite the promise of new clothes though, he still had to face the next few days in the freezing castle. With trepidation at the day ahead of him, he woke up the next morning and dragged himself to Arthur's chambers.

Everything went as usual: getting Arthur to rise from his deep sleep (no wonder, with all those warm furs piled on top of him, who wouldn't be able to sleep under those) and then stuffing him into training clothes.

However, as Merlin was making the bed, and looking at it a little longingly, Arthur cleared his throat. Merlin looked up expectantly. Arthur's brow was furrowed, as if he wasn't sure about what he was going to say.

"Merlin…"Arthur said, hesitating to continue. He sighed. "You look cold, and I know your new clothes haven't yet arrived. Just…get in the bed, why don't you. Be out by the time I get back from training, and you had better have a bath waiting for me."

It didn't take much to get him into bed; Merlin was willing to admit that. With a smile, he slipped under the blankets Arthur had just vacated. It was so wonderfully warm; Merlin couldn't help but moan quietly in happiness. He missed seeing Arthur's eyebrow raise at that, and the slight adjustment the prince had to make to his pants.

Merlin couldn't help but burrow into the space Arthur had left. It was heavenly—really, there was no other way Merlin could explain it. The indent where Arthur had been just a little while before was big enough that Merlin felt cocooned in it, and he fell asleep in record time, unconsciously breathing in the scent on the sheets.

Thankfully, he woke up before Arthur came back, and managed to get everything ready in time for his return.

It continued like that for the next few days, Arthur offering Merlin the use of his bed until he got back from training. Merlin's clothes were due to be finished by Saturday afternoon, and then this would all be done with. Merlin couldn't help but feel a little regret for that—the bed was the most comfortable thing he had ever slept in, and getting that bit of extra rest every morning did wonderful things for the rest of his day. He had never felt more cheerful, and that was saying something. Everything seemed to go right, and he didn't even get annoyed when Gaius asked him to clean out the leech tank.

On Saturday morning he went to wake Arthur a little later, knowing that training wasn't until later.

As usual, Arthur was reluctant to get up, but Merlin was under strict orders to make sure he did. It was Uther's belief that princes shouldn't spend the day lying around doing nothing, and Arthur was never permitted to sleep past eight in the morning.

"Well," Merlin announced, standing next to Arthur's bed, rocking back and forth on his heels, "time to get up!" Saturdays were always the worst day to wake the prince on. It was understandable, but really Merlin hated doing it. Sometimes Arthur threw things at his head, or yelled at him. It was quite unpleasant to be honest.

Today however, Merlin was on the receiving end of a new tactic.

"Grph in mgh bpgh." A series of groans came from underneath Arthur's pillow, where he had hidden—futilely—from Merlin.

"Sorry?" Merlin asked politely. No doubt Arthur was simply swearing at him again.

"I said, get in my bed," Arthur enunciated, after managing to extricate his face from the soft, downy fabric.

Merlin felt his blood run cold, then unbearably hot, and he knew his face was flushing brilliantly red. "I-I-I…what?" he asked, wondering if Arthur was in his right mind.

Arthur closed his eyes and snuggled deeper under his covers. "Bed. You. In it."

"Erm."

Merlin thought he heard a very exasperated sigh issue from Arthur's lovely lips. "Merlin. Your clothes haven't arrived yet, correct?"

Merlin replied with something that he thought sounded like an affirmative.

"And every day at this time you have slept in my bed, have you not?"

Once again, Merlin said something that resembled a yes, though he wasn't sure it was an actual word, since his brain couldn't be functioning when all the blood it needed was rushing downwards, could it?

"Today, I want to sleep in. And since I want to sleep here, and you want to sleep here, and incidentally I don't want you to freeze to death, you should be getting in this bed."

Flawless logic, Merlin thought to himself. Surely his crown prince couldn't be wrong. And even if he was, who was Merlin to argue with his painfully throbbing groin?

Without further ado, Merlin gingerly climbed into the bed with Arthur. To be honest he was expecting that they would stay on their separate sides, and wake up in a couple of hours with the knowledge that this would never be spoken of again. Instead, he was surprised that as soon as he got under the covers, Arthur sleepily grabbed him around the waist, and yanked him into the middle of the bed.

Merlin tried to remember how to breathe as he realized he was now flush against Arthur's body. The heat between seemed to be building by the second, and Merlin fought to stay very very still. Any amount of friction between them—despite having his back to Arthur, and not the other way round—and he knew he would be moaning without any volition at all.

Strangely though, Arthur seemed to have absolutely no ulterior motives. Merlin didn't want to seem narcissistic in assuming that Arthur wanted to do wicked things to him (which he would most certainly oblige) but honestly, when someone asked you to get into bed with them, wasn't there usually some naughtiness involved? Instead of kissing Merlin until he was breathless, or sucking him off until he couldn't see straight, Arthur was drifting into sleep. Merlin could tell from the way his breathing slowed, and his arms loosened slightly around Merlin's small frame.

Fine. He could deal with rejection. (Though really there had been none at all, and Merlin knew so. He hadn't even bothered to go for a kiss or anything, and Arthur was hardly to blame.) With a small humph Merlin let himself relax, as if sleeping in Arthur's arms wasn't a) what he dreamed about every night and b) one of the most wonderful experiences of his life. To be honest, he had never felt safer then he did now. It was like magic, as if Arthur's embrace could protect him from every evil in the world. Which was really just ridiculous, Merlin tried to tell himself, he was little more than a bed-warmer for Arthur…but his thoughts trailed off as he fell fast asleep.

Merlin felt soft lips on his neck, gently kissing him, open-mouthed and wet. Sighing, he leaned back into the touch, savoring the feeling. Dreams could hold on a little longer, he decided.

The owner of the arms wrapped around him seemed to agree—and he knew of course that it was Arthur who was holding him, since all his dreams were about Arthur. He was pulled in tighter, and suddenly he realized that behind him, his dream-Arthur was starting to rock against him gently, then starting to do so faster. It really wasn't an unpleasant sensation, he decided. He could feel the length of Arthur pushing against him, in ways that promised something more. Then without warning the hand that had, just a moment before, been resting on his chest dropped to his cock, and he found himself torn between pressing back against Arthur's back, or jerking forward against his hand. Unable to decide in his lust-addled state, he did something of a combination, and abruptly found himself entangled in sheets—and realizing that this was decidedly not a dream.

Unfortunately, the small part of his brain that was still functioning was facing a pressing ethical dilemma. On the one hand, Arthur might very well not be aware of what he was doing. It appeared from a brief glance that he was still very much asleep, which meant that he couldn't really be held totally responsible for his actions, and the right thing to do would be to wake him up and never speak of this again if that was what he wanted.

But on the other hand…Merlin was pretty sure he was about to come. In Arthur's hand. And that was hard to ignore.

"Merlin," Arthur moaned, his breath ghosting along the skin of his neck, making Merlin shiver. "Harder, Merlin."

That was it. Awake or not, Arthur had said his name. To hear Arthur utter it like that, with intimate abandon, like he couldn't stop himself from doing it, saying it from the deepest corners of his consciousness was too much for Merlin to bear. With a cry that could not be suppressed, he came, rutting against the palm of his prince's hand, simultaneously grinding his arse against Arthur.

A moment later, he realized that Arthur had come as well, if the wet feeling behind him was any indication. And if he was interpreting the silence right, Arthur had also woken up.

"Erm." He attempted to untangle himself from underneath all the blankets. When he finally managed to get out of the bed, he was surprised that Arthur hadn't started yelling at him. However, the look on Arthur's face might explain why—he was staring at Merlin with glassy eyes, a small half-smile on his lips.

Then, without taking his eyes off of Merlin's, he raised his left hand, very deliberately. Merlin shuddered, feeling his cock twitch, when he realized that his cum was still coating Arthur's fingers. He hadn't bothered to wipe it off on the sheets.

With his half-lidded sex-eyes still trained on Merlin's, Arthur licked one long line from the base of his palm to the tip of his middle finger, cum glistening on his tongue.

Merlin actually turned, and ran, because he knew that if he didn't he would be jumping right back into that bed, unable to leave.

The next morning, Merlin went to Arthur's room with some trepidation. He hadn't seen Arthur since the incident yesterday, and he didn't plan on discussing it. He now had his new clothes, and wouldn't be doing anything else with Arthur. In bed. Ever.

"Morning," he announced, normal as ever. "Time to get up. You've got lots to do—"

"Get in the bed, Merlin." Arthur cut him off unceremoniously, having absolutely no care for what Merlin was trying to tell him. Merlin couldn't see his face, as Arthur was covered in his usual mountain of blankets, but imagining the way Arthur had looked at him yesterday, right before he had left, was enough to make him blush terribly.

"I'm really…not cold," Merlin managed to choke out. He had to keep up some shadow of propriety.

"Really?" Arthur said, his head poking out of the blankets that looked so incredibly comfortable. Merlin wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Arthur add, "That's a shame."

Merlin was seized with an insane, reckless thought. "Of course, I could, um. Fix it. That. You know. That is, I could be cold."

He saw Arthur's head appear with a little more energy than before. "How's that?"

"Well, I've heard that…well…" Merlin stuttered, unable to believe that he was about to do this. He was not about to get naked and crawl into bed with the prince.

"Merlin," Arthur growled at him, "come here."

Hesitantly, Merlin made his way around to the other side of the bed. "Yes?" he squeaked.

"Take off your clothes, and get in the bed."

Who was Merlin to argue with a prince?

With record speed he stripped down and nestled himself under the covers. Arthur turned to face him, their bodies not touching. His eyes simply ran over Merlin's face, taking in every detail. In his eyes there was something—Merlin didn't know if he was placing it properly. He had seen it before, in little flashes when he was with Arthur, but never like this. If he wasn't mistaken, Arthur was looking at him with love.

"So," Arthur began, tracing Merlin's cheek with his callused fingers, "why did you leave yesterday?"

"Honestly?" Merlin asked, smirking,

"Honestly," Arthur said, frowning.

Merlin locked eyes with him. "I was afraid that if you carried on like that, I would come in my pants. Again."

Arthur gave one, short laugh, and twined his fingers in Merlin's hair. Then his pulled him in, and kissed him, parting Merlin's lips with a gentle tracing of his tongue. Merlin felt helpless, completely pliable with Arthur.

Then he found himself being pulled in, and he realized that today Arthur was just as naked as himself.

"Arthur," he moaned, and clutched any centimetre of skin he could find, wanting to devour this beautiful man he had been dreaming about for who knew how long.

"Merlin," Arthur mocked in exactly the way Merlin had said his name, with that small amount of desperation, but he knew the breathlessness was no joke.

Arthur flipped Merlin to be underneath him, staring at him as if he were something precious.

With a sudden rush of abandonment, as if this could end at any moment, Merlin drew Arthur even closer—as if that were possible—and whispered, "I need you right now."

Arthur laughed shakily. "What do you think we're doing?"

"Good," Merlin retorted, and reached over to Arthur's bedside table, where he had left something before divesting himself of his clothes. "Thankfully I brought this."

Arthur's eyes widened slightly. "You really think of everything, don't you?" Merlin had handed him a small bottle of oil.

"Actually Gaius," Merlin said sheepishly.

"Oh, gods no!" Arthur said. "Does he know?"

"What?" Merlin asked, shocked. "Of course not! He thinks I needed it for massage!"

"Right," Arthur said, smiling at him. "Lucky thing too."

Hours later, Merlin couldn't help but ask: "So does this mean I get to sleep in here more often?"

Arthur didn't dignify him with an answer—just shut him up with a kiss.


End file.
